


Centurion City

by AviDragonLady



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Dystopian, Multi, NSFW, Original Fiction, Shameless Smut, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 20,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AviDragonLady/pseuds/AviDragonLady
Summary: People who lived in the Cities lived forever. No one in the outlying towns and farmsteads knew how. Some of them left home to become immortal, but none return. Inspired by the song "100 Years".





	1. Farm Girl in Century City

Everyone in the rural village knew about the big city. That's where all the high and mighty Centurions lived. They never stepped foot outside their precious city, with its high marbled walls, and gleaming metal buildings. Their glittering spires could be seen above the Wall, of course. With that many people, you had to build up, instead of out. The prime real estate for farming had to be preserved. People only needed small patches of grass to be happy, in their minds.  
   Meara could see the city, off in the distance. It was always in her sight, anywhere in the village. If she squinted, she could even tell where the Wall ended and the buildings began. It covered a quarter of the horizon, it was so massive. She knew it was full of self-righteous immortals, who didn't give a fig about the people who grew its food.  
   She also knew that if she wanted, she could _become_ immortal.  
   Her family strongly counseled her against going to the city. "Who knows what their secret is? They could be _vampires!_ " her little sister shrieked.  
   "That city is full of sin and vice. It's only natural, as long as they've lived. You'd be easy prey, and no mistake," her grandfather chided.  
   "Who knows what kind of air they breathe? There aren't enough plants to purify the toxins a city produces, mark my words!" This was from her mother, kneeling beside her in their personal garden. She loved the sweet smell of fresh herbs, or flowering fruit trees. This was her heaven, and she didn't want to live forever if it meant giving up wide open spaces and green plants.  
   Her father was quiet on the matter. He'd smile at her mother when she sang the praises of their farm life, but never added his two bits. One day, she cornered him by the barn and asked why.  
   He gazed up at the early morning sky and contemplated his answer. He was a man who thought long and hard before he spoke.  
   "I used to be like you, ya know." He waited for his words to sink in before continuing. "I wanted to see that shining city, become immortal. Then I met your mother."  
   That was all he needed to say. It was all he was going to say, as well. She knew how much he loved her mother, and how much she loved the country. She would never agree to move to the city. There wasn't enough green, and the tall buildings made her feel claustrophobic. "I'd feel like a sheep about to be sheared," she said once. Meara was around six at the time, and giggled at the image of her mother in a sheep costume.  
   She didn't laugh now, as she hugged her family goodbye. They hadn't been able to talk her out of it. Her father hadn't even tried. He knew her heart, knew the feeling of wanting eternal life, although the change of scenery was what had called him more. When pushed, he'd only said that he didn't need immortality. His children were his way of living forever. "As long as my kin walk the earth, I've done something good."  
   Meara wiped tears from her eyes as she began the long walk to the city. They only used the old truck for deliveries, and she was too impatient to wait. She'd turned eighteen, and they couldn't stop her from going. Her mother flatly refused to sully the air with diesel fumes for one recalcitrant child, but she did pack said child enough meals to last her the trip. On foot, it took two days to reach the city that looked so close.  
   Cloudhuggers hundreds of layers tall dwarfed even the tallest shaft of wheat. She couldn't distinguish individual buildings the first day. By the second day, she could almost make out the divisions between the layers of buildings. Even right up to the Great Gate, she could barely single out a line of windows from the countless layers of countless buildings.  
   There was a line to enter the city, of course. Farmers with carts or trucks were directed to a broad gate to the side, which was the only gate she'e been near. Humans on foot were lined up outside a disappointing, ordinary door beneath the sign that read:

**Century City B508**

**Residents reentering the city must provide valid documents.**

**Immigrants and visitors from other cities must provide valid documents.**

**Applicants for Citizenship will be processed on an individual basis.**

**Quarantine is mandatory for all applicants.**

   She felt vaguely deflated. Suddenly, immortality didn't seem so magical. It seemed... clinical. _What kind of quarantine do I have to go through? Will they take the food Mother packed? What about the little houseplant she tucked in the side bag?_  
   She fretted until her stomach was in knots. The line moved fairly quickly, which was the only thing that kept her from vomiting on the paved lot outside the city.  
   When she reached the front of the line, she saw why it was so swift. Either you had your documents, and you were allowed in, or you were sent to a different line within the Wall to verify your identity. She didn't know how, if they didn't have the paperwork.  
   For people like her, a third line formed on the other side of the Wall interior. The Wall itself seemed vast and boundless from the inside. She thought that her entire village could fit inside, neatly lined up and waiting for processing.  
    _Processing..._ She thought of the pickled produce at home, and felt even more queasy. Her sister's words came back to haunt her: _What if they're vampires?_ Come to think of it, she'd never heard from Manuel after he came to the city. They'd gotten a few letters, and then... nothing.  
    _Why didn't I think of that before I went on this harebrained trip? What if they live forever by grinding up unsuspecting bumpkins? Who's to say that he even_ wrote _those letters?_  
   The line moved again, and the girl behind her bumped her with a gaudy floral bag. "Come on, I don't have all day. My boyfriend is waiting."  
   Meara moved up the foot or so, then turned toward the brassy blonde. Conversation would divert her from her silly fears, she thought. "Your boyfriend is here? And he sent for you?" She was desperate to hear about _someone_ who made it to the other side of the Wall alive!  
   The girl's eyes slid sideways, and her heart sank. "He's here, yeah. He didn't say where they were staying, but I'm sure we'll be sent the same place."  
   Meara's heart sank to her toes. "What do you mean 'sent'?" she asked carefully.  
   The girl huffed, nudged her forward again. "Didn't you read the sign? We have to go to _quarantine_ before they let us in their precious city."  
   Meara sighed with relief. "Of course, right. I forgot. To be honest, I'm a bit nervous. What was your name?"  
   The blonde shook back her frizzy hair and thrust out a hand. "Since we'll probably be bunkmates anyway, the name's Brisa. My boyfriend is Ben. I dunno if they'll have us in separate dorms from the boys, but I'm hoping we get to see 'em at least a little before they turn us loose, y'know?"  
   The idea of this brash, almost rude girl becoming a Centurion wouldn't gel in Meara's mind. It hadn't occurred to her before now that immortals might look... _normal_. She'd always pictured them as ethereal beings that one ascended to, from the mortal plane. They'd wafted to and fro in her imaginings, playing instruments and lounging on the sidelines of sporting events. They would never descend to the field, of course.  
   She snapped out of her musings irritably. _If they never_ played _sports, who in the realm would they_ watch? _They'd never let the teams in for matches without however long in quarantine!_  
   All of her childish imaginings crashed about her ears by the time her turn came. She was about to be screened for Citizenship!


	2. Intake

Her name was inscribed on a file with meticulous care. Her height, weight, and age were recorded with equal precision. They drew blood, took full body X-rays, sampled her urine and feces. She was embarrassed to provide the last two samples, but she was told by the clinically detached man that they needed to make sure she didn't have parasites, or any other communicable diseases.  
   The relative speed of the line outside was deceptive. That line was merely to note basic information and receive a hospital gown. Their belongings were tagged and sent down a conveyor belt for sorting into quarantine zones, she was told.  
   The building where she was tested for disease was built into the Wall, but the bulk of it jutted out into the city proper. She discovered this when she'd been granted preliminary clearance. The shuttle that transported her, along with the Brisa and the others assigned to her zone, departed from a loading bay attached to the clinic. It passed through the city for a grand tour, before they were taken to one of the cloudhuggers near the other side of the Wall. Well, one of the sides. She was completely turned around by the time they were deposited via another loading bay.  
  _Boy, they're taking this quarantine business seriously! These loading bays have automatic doors with no mechanism I can see. They really don't want any of us infecting their precious Centurions with fresh air and sunshine,_ she thought with uncharacteristic bitterness.  
   Brisa wasn't a country girl, from what she could tell. She didn't know where the rough girl was from. She wasn't forthcoming with her history, but she didn't seem to mind the close confines of either the city or the cloudhugger. She seemed perfectly at home, while Meara and most of the others gawked at everything around them.  
   "These are your quarters while in quarantine. Welcome to Century City, prospective Citizens."  
   One boy, who'd been slouched near the door, jerked to life. "Hey! I'm _already_ a Citizen! I dunno why _I_ have to go through quarantine! Nobody will tell me why _I'm_ stuck here."  
   The bored-looking official checked her clipboard for his name. "Ah, I see. You didn't have the proper permits to transfer from C105. Since you have your ID tag, you're being allowed in conditionally. We can't verify how long it's been since you were in the safety of a Century City, so we have to put you through protocol again. Sorry, kid. My hands are tied."  
   The lanky youth scowled, but the armed guard at the door kept him from making any aggressive moves. He'd been raised in a City, so he knew how harsh punishments could be. After all, that's why he was here, where no one knew how important his parents were, instead of back with his friends playing handball.  
   "As for the rest of you, unless you have an ID tag like the one that will be returned to mister Cain when he's released from quarantine, you cannot leave this building. The guard posted here is for the safety of _everyone_ , including yourselves. There may be microbes in the city that you're not used to, so we're pumping in outside air, in small quantities. It's mixed with a sterile oxygen nitrogen mixture that's hypoallergenic. If you feel light-headed, nauseous, or tingly, let a technician know. Your vitals will be monitored daily, at first. After two weeks, you'll go to weekly checks, then monthly."  
   " _Monthly?_ " the boy named Cain yelped.  
   "That may not be the case with you, mister Cain. The others will need to be briefed on society here, to make the transition as smooth as possible. Wouldn't it be embarrassing to use the wrong door to the facilities?" This was said with detached calm. This seemed to be a spiel she'd delivered more times than even her lofty self could count.  
  _Wait, has everyone I've seen so far been a Centurion? The guards, the doctors, the clerks? They all look so... dead inside_ , Meara thought with faint horror. _If this is what immortality looks like, I'm not sure I want it!  
_    She started to tell the woman that she'd made a mistake when the luggage arrived, and she vanished in the melee of bodies. She sighed. _Best try to make the best of it, then_. She sought her bag, and was relieved to see that the little houseplant made it through the checks.  
 _I suppose if we're supposed to be adjusting microbes, whatever those are, a living source from my home might help..? Maybe they just think it'll keep me happy for however long they intend to keep us here._ She thought of her mother, in their little garden, and instead of making her feel better, the plant made her sad.  
   A loud voice crackled overhead, announcing a meal. She didn't know what meal, after the day she'd had. It could be lunch or dinner, for all she knew.  
   A matronly woman hustled them through the door and into a large high riser. "We'll assign you lot to the five hundred block, I think." She stopped and counted young people. "Yes, there's room there. Lunch for you is on the four fifty block. Find a room without a name in the holder, drop your bags in it, and I'll show you to the food hall."  
   By the time she finished speaking, the high speed contraption opened its door. They tumbled out, tiny suitcase wheels whirring frantically as they each tried to find a room. Meara barely glanced out the window of her room before darting back to the group. She didn't know how to operate a high riser, and she didn't want to miss lunch!  
   The matron waited for everyone to return before showing them that very thing. "You want to go down, since 450 is a lower number than 500. Hold a finger over the--well, there's only one sensor on this floor, but when you come back up, you'll want to hold a finger over the 'up' sensor. For now, we're going down, so we'll trigger the 'down' sensor."  
   She stuck out one bony finger and hovered it over a triangle with the point down. The sensor, as she called it, turned bright blue after a second or two.  
   "Now, we wait for the high riser. Keeping your finger over the sensor will not, I repeat _not_ make it get here any faster."  
   Meara wondered how many times she had to say that. Some of the teenagers around her looked sheepish. She hid her own chagrin well, she thought.  
   The door slid open, and twelve hungry teenagers tried to get through it at once. Meara and Cain waited; one out of politeness, the other in silent mutiny.  
   On the shorter trip down, the older woman told them that there were to be no antics while they were here. "I run a smooth operation here, and disturbances will be dealt with swiftly."  
   Meara detected a hint of steel under the calm demeanor, but most of the others were already rushing toward the food. She felt a shiver of apprehension wriggle down her spine, and averted her eyes from the suddenly cold woman who seemed to be in charge around here.  
 _What other rules don't we know? How long do we have to toe her line?_ she wondered.


	3. Teen Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cantina chatter between the new recruits, and the first of them is punished.

Meara sat next to Brisa. She didn't particularly like the subtly aggressive girl, but she was the only person she'd spoken to. The blonde didn't object to her presence, but she didn't strike up conversation either. Cain seemed to have found a kindred spirit in the sullen teen, so he sat at their table.  
   None of the people around them said much during lunch, she noticed. Their table was the chattiest in the vast room. It seemed that this entire layer was one large eating area. There were covert glances aimed at the new arrivals, but no one approached the tables where the fourteen of them slouched and gossiped.  
   The fare wasn't spectacular, but it was certainly nutritious, as promised. It was cooked adequately, neither burnt nor undercooked. There was a protein of some sort, pureed vegetable matter, a starch, and a pastry.  
   It seemed that quarantine wasn't a happy place to be. For all the cleanliness and efficiency of the place, there was no cheer. She supposed it wouldn't be a priority for the bureaucrats to make them happy, just acclimated. There were an awful lot of kids here.  
   She straightened, a bite of unidentifiable meat halfway to her mouth. _There isn't a single person in here over the age of thirty._ She experienced a momentary panic, before reason intervened. _They probably group people according to age,_ she thought. _After all, why would kids our age want to be stuck with "old people"?_  
   She chided herself for being childish. Her little sister's vampire theory just wouldn't leave her alone. She tried not to think about the meat she was eating, or its vague blandness. It had the texture of pork, but the taste was closer to poultry.  
   She'd heard of some strange culinary tastes of Centurions, including something called an emu, so she attributed her inability to identify it to that. _It's probably just something I've never eaten before. I wonder if this is what fish tastes like._ There were no ponds or rivers near her village, so she'd never eaten fish. The fields were irrigated with aqueducts, and they drank well water.  
   She saved the sweet for last, as she was taught. A boy named Cicero ate his first, drunk with the power of freedom. He bragged about how he was going to get his own apartment and become a lawyer. He didn't know what a lawyer was, but he heard they made lots of money. He wanted a big apartment, because he had to share a bedroom at home with four brothers, and he needed room to spread out.  
   "Yep, I'm gonna have all my sports trophies on shelves, so everyone in this snooty place knows I'm a strong alpha male."  
   Cain snorted. "I bet you don't even know what an alpha male _is_ , do you?"  
   Cicero scowled. "Of _course_ I do. They're the biggest, baddest guy in town."  
   Cain sneered, but didn't say anything else.  
   A timid girl of about fourteen asked if they could do anything they wanted, once they became Citizens. Cain made a rude noise, and her face crumpled.  
   "Of course you can, don't mind him." A pretty brunette named Sarah put an arm around her shoulders and chafed them gently. "I'm going to be a social worker. No, I don't know exactly what they do, but they help kids."  
   Meara thought if that's what they did, the tall girl would be a good one. "What do you want to be when you're a Citizen?" Sarah asked the shy redhead.  
   After a quick glance at Cain, she said "I want to be a dancer. My mum says I'm good, but I haven't had any formal training. I just tried what I saw on television." She looked across at Meara and asked what she wanted to do.  
   She shrugged. "Honestly, I didn't think about it beyond becoming a Centurion."  
   "What did you do before you came here?" Sarah asked.  
   "Same thing I expect most people here used to do. I was a farmer."  
   The shy redhead gazed up at her with what she could only label hero worship. "That must mean you're strong, huh?"  
   Meara shrugged again. "I guess so. Machines do the hardest work. All I really have to do is take care of the animals and weed the garden. Dad and my brothers did all the field work."  
   The redhead, whose name she would learn was Lucy, refused to hear otherwise. She saw Meara and Sarah as protectors from then on. She was a petite redhead with unnaturally long legs and a trim body. Meara imagined she must be a very good dancer, the way she moved with hesitant grace. Every gesture was fluid, yet close to her body.  
   She also noticed that Bill, a lanky boy of about fifteen with glasses and unkempt hair, kept shooting surreptitious glances her way. He was good with computers, though he was reluctant to admit as much. He'd been teased about it in his farming town, which was what drove him to the city.  
   Dan, down the table a bit, was a brawny farmer from the town next to hers. She'd only met him a few times, at the county fairs. They got along like siblings. Across from him was a cheerful lad named Jack.  
   Jonas and Evan sat together, being pretty boys with no desire to associate with the "lesser humans" at her table. Jonas showed off his vocal prowess, expecting the applause from teens scattered around the room.  
   They sat with Brandy, who was a couple of seats removed, dressed in black with heavy makeup. She doodled on a pad at her elbow. Macy sat across from them, but Meara couldn't quite tell if Macy was a girl or a boy.  
   A hollow tone droned overhead, and kids got up and took their trays to the dumping station. Organic waste went into a bin, garbage went down a chute, and dishes went onto a conveyor belt. As with everything here, things were compartmentalized and labeled.  
   Cain dispassionately dumped everything down the chute, including the vegetable side dish. An older kid hissed a warning, but he didn't care. What could they do to him? His parents were important people, so he was untouchable.  
   That's what he thought.  
   Almost immediately, an orderly hustled out and grabbed him by the arm. "Hey! You can't manhandle me! I'm a Citizen!"  
   In a flat voice, the muscular man informed him that he was going to go sort garbage, Citizen or not. "You were warned," he said ominously.  
   The rest of the new arrivals eyed each other warily. The farm descendants didn't mind hard or dirty work; particularly if they raised pigs. It was the way the Centurion treated him; like he was a _thing,_ rather than a person.  
   A subdued group trod toward the high riser, unsettled and a bit afraid.


	4. Acclimation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting used to quarantine

As promised--or threatened, if you asked Mary--they were given lessons on Century City. Meara didn't know how lucky she'd been to find a room with a window until nine of the new arrivals complained about how dreary their rooms were without natural light. Not being able to see beyond the stark confines of the dorm was "soul-sucking", to quote Lucy. She'd started out with a window room, but Evan had bullied her out of it. He made her cry by telling her that she didn't deserve a view of the city, because she'd never see it after the rest of them tested out.  
   Meara and Sarah had consoled the weeping girl, but they couldn't prove anything to the Block Matron who oversaw their layer, or block, as it was called here. Country folk called them layers, because each row of windows made horizontal layers in the mountains of steel. It made no sense for them to be referred to as blocks, until one tutor flipped the image on its side. Viewed from the top, each layer was indeed a large block of rooms.  
   Meara offered to give Lucy her room, but as soon as the little lady saw the fragile plant on the windowsill, she stoutly refused. That it was a gift from her mother solidified the decision. She said if she needed sunlight, she could go into the exercise room, which had many wide windows, or visit her friend. Meara reluctantly accepted the arrangement. She had the feeling the girl would be difficult to shake, once she'd attached herself to her side.  
   The days passed with stifling regularity. The morning began with vitals, followed by breakfast. Those few who took medications were given their pills by the same stone-faced nurse who checked their blood pressure and temperature. The monotonous overhead tones signaled everything from meal time (which came with a pre-recorded message) to changing classes. They woke to a tone, they went to bed when the tone sounded. There was no variation in tones. The only reason they knew it was the bedtime tone was because the lights went out five minutes after "last bell".  
   "I don't think anyone here has heard a bell," she whispered as class let out. "That's just some sort of electric... nonsense."  
   Betsy, a girl who had been there a week longer than her, giggled. "City folk have weird names for things. You get used to it."  
   Meara refrained for the millionth time from asking if she was in the city because of her gently rounded belly. Betsy never spoke of the obvious baby, or its father, so she gathered it was a sensitive subject. She did, however, ask what Betsy planned to do when she "tested out" to become a Citizen. She pointedly kept her eyes above her shoulders.  
   "I don't honestly know. It's not like I had a choice in coming here. I imagine my relatives have set something up, once I become a Centurion." She sounded uncertain, yet resolute. Her jutting chin defied the slumped shoulders, as if to say "I don't need their help either way."  
   Delicately avoiding the obvious, Meara again attempted to learn what Centurions were like. "So you have relatives in Century City, then?" She was hoping they were distant cousins, or maybe an aunt and uncle; any sort of relatable person would do.  
   "No, no, just family friends, I imagine. They didn't really say. All I was told was that I would be taken care of here." She sounded distant, but her shoulders squared against the unseen adversaries who would try to "take care of" her needs.  
   Not much was said about what specifically would happen to them, should they test out. No mention of immortality, no questions about careers they wanted to pursue--not even what careers there were to pursue. There were physical exercises, which Meara, Lucy, Cicero, and Dan excelled at. Bill, Sarah, and Jack were the brightest out of their little group, though their quarantine group was split up after a few weeks.  
   They were encouraged to write home. That meant that the letters they got from Manuel were probably genuine. Knowing he was safe, at least while he was in quarantine, was a huge relief. She wondered sometimes what became of him. Had he gone on to become some wealthy family's "manny", as he'd hoped? Or was there really crime and vice, as her grandfather asserted?  
   Cain flatly refused to write home.  
   The deceptive sweetness of their tutor's voice didn't hide the steel under her voice. "Wouldn't they be upset if they thought something bad happened to you?"  
   He scowled at her, belligerence radiating from his rigid posture. "If they cared what happened to me, they'd have sent me with the proper permits."  
   The woman didn't contradict his assumption. She merely repeated that he should write a letter home. She hinted that there would be consequences if he didn't. Apparently, he didn't learn his lesson after sorting garbage. No one knew what his punishment was, but he became much more withdrawn when he returned from wherever the orderly took him. They didn't even know how the burly man was summoned to their classroom. All they knew was, whatever happened changed Cain drastically.


	5. Lucy Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy isn't faring as well as she let on.

Meara still saw the others, from time to time. They hadn't been moved from the 500th layer, just assigned to different classes. Though they still weren't given any hints as to their futures in Century City, they were told that periodically, they would be shuffled around. It was supposed to force them to interact with other Centurion candidates. As such, she never knew what happened to Betsy, and she was kept in such a rigid routine that she never even noticed.  
   "Centurions must be lawful, and be able to get along with a diverse range of people. This will test your abilities to do both. If there are fights, the combatants will be placed on an extended quarantine. If the behavior does not correct itself, you will be moved to the Detention Block."  
   The tutor looked around the room with icy detachment. "There is no law saying that we must admit every person who enters the Gate. Immortality is not a right, it is a gift."  
   A collective shiver rippled through the room.  
   For a while, there were no fights. No one snapped, as Cain had. Unfortunately, there was only so much tedium and confinement that a young, vital person could endure. They say it's always the quiet ones, and so it was.  
   Poor Lucy, in her windowless room, hadn't done as she said. She was a gentle soul, and could not bear to "bother" the people in the activity room. She'd been without an outside view for weeks, and it took its toll on her.  
   It was lunchtime, and she was eating an apple. She stared at the core, transfixed. Meara would find out later that the apple seeds reminded her of the farm where she grew up. She'd been one of nine children, so she'd been allowed to pursue dance, instead of working in the fields. All Meara knew at the time was that the timid girl suddenly stood and hurled the apple core across the food hall. One minute she was fine, and the next she was running toward the door.  
   "I can't _take_ it anymore! I need to be _outside!_ " she shrieked.  
   The apple core sailed over several peoples' heads and landed in a redheaded boy's soup. The youths were slow to react, having been worn down with stagnant routine. The orderlies were not. There wasn't an ounce of fat on any of them, male or female. As it turned out, it was a female that guarded the door. She calmly and efficiently clotheslined Lucy.  
   While the orderlies were fit, Lucy had been wasting away to nothing. She was too timid to use the activity room if anyone was in it. She lay gasping, clutching her neck. There was no fight in her when the orderly tossed her over one broad shoulder and hauled her out of the food room.  
   In retrospect, Meara should have gone with her to the activity room, but her grandpa said there was a reason nobody had eyes in the back of their heads. "Ye can only see what's happening now, Meara. Lookin' behind ya is about as useful as teats on a boar."  
   Lunch was silent after her brief outburst. The food hall was usually quiet, but today it was doubly so. Even the new batch of quarantined youths was subdued. It only took once for the new arrivals to see where they stood in the grand scheme of things. They hadn't earned Citizenship, which put them on the bottom of the heap. Any resistance would be swiftly dealt with.  
   Lucy didn't come back until after dinner. She was much more calm; too calm, in fact.  
   "Lucy? Hey, Luce, you okay?" Sarah asked. The skinny brunette stared blankly at her. She managed a weak flap of a hand, but it wasn't reassuring. She drifted off to her room and lay down, docile as you please.  
   "Or rather, as docile as they please," Sarah amended. "I don't like this, 'Mere. Why do they have such tight control over us? All she wanted was a little sunlight."  
   Meara shrugged, no longer certain of anything. "If we were infected with anything, or the air balance whatever wasn't right, somebody could get hurt. I don't know what microbes are, but if they've got weird ones in the city, and she got out, would she get sick..?"  
   The first few weeks, she'd been reciting these facts and believing them. Something about the clinical way they were treated, though, unnerved her.  
   "Does this really strike you as a medical facility?" Sarah asked, echoing her thoughts. "Those orderlies could just as easily work in a prison."  
   "I've never been in hospital before, or a prison, so I don't know," Meara admitted. "Maybe they have to be prepared to fight off a plague outbreak..?"  
   "By what, punching it out of us?"  
   "Knocking us out before we escape, like they did to Lucy, maybe." She didn't sound certain of anything anymore, and she wasn't. The bright city outside her window looked more and more inviting every day, and the cold confines of their confinement increasingly less so.  
   "That's a lot of maybes."


	6. Citizen Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has finally arrived! Now they'll become Citizens... right..?

One day, without warning, the tedium was broken for a large number of them. They were being tested for Citizenship!  
   There were many people she didn't recognize in the testing facility on the 300 block. She supposed, since there were five hundred layers, or blocks, it would be more efficient to have the testing all in one place. There were vitals and samples taken, the same as they did every month. They ran on treadmills, also routine. There was a written test, which she'd expected.  
   What she did not expect was to be stripped to her underthings after all of the testing was completed. The paper quiz was first, followed by the medical examinations, so they wouldn't have to concentrate on a test and near-nudity, but she failed to see the point in being refused clothing after the doctors finished with them.  
   Most of them had been worn down, to a point, but this new indignity was too much for them. Many objected, but between the doctors' assurances that they needed to be certain there were no visible deformities, and the small army of orderlies, they subsided. It was largely the muscular bodyguards who kept them in line, but the doctors swelled with authority, nonetheless.  
   Meara herself was cowed into submission by the sheer efficiency of the operation. _They've been doing things this way for decades, as far as I know; if not centuries. How can a simple farm girl hope to escape, should they wish to take advantage of me?_  
   That was her fear. She thought they were there to be raped. Why else would they take good, strong, farm-bred kids and confine them with little more than a treadmill and bicycle for exercise? Even Dan would be little challenge if one of the orderlies decided they wanted a piece of him! All of her grandfather's warnings swarmed her brain at once.  
  _Why, oh why didn't I listen to him? Was immortality worth my soul?_ She decided that it wasn't. If they were to be ravished, she would go down fighting. The worst they'd done so far was drug the women who had a breakdown.  
  _Wait, they want us_ alive _for something. As bad as Cain got, they never did anything truly horrid to him. Whatever this place is, it isn't what we thought, but it doesn't seem to be a slaughterhouse, at the very least._ Her illusions of Citizenship had eroded over time, so she should have been comforted that she would at least survive.  
    She wasn't, and for good reason.  
   A man in a suit stepped through the high riser doors. This seemed to be what the orderlies were waiting for. They shoved the confused, half-naked detainees into a line down the main room. The stone-faced man in the suit was handsome, as males went, but his expression ruined any appeal he otherwise might have held for any of the girls in the ragged line.  
   When they were arranged to his liking, he stalked up and down the line, examining them and making approving or disapproving sounds in his throat. They were forced to turn in a circle for his inspection. A mousy man with a clipboard followed, noting which noise accompanied which person. She didn't know how they knew their names, for they never asked, but without fail they correctly identified each and every detainee in line. Those he disapproved of were escorted away by a stoic orderly. The line shrank, little by little. The gaps were closed, whether or not the frightened young people moved of their own accord.  
   The number of youths who remained were less than a quarter of those who began the testing. They weren't told where the others were taken, and they were too afraid of joining them to ask. Meara was sad to see Bill among the ones led away, less sad to see Evan and Brandy go.  
   Finally, the man in the suit spoke. The three dozen captives strained forward, anxious to hear what would become of them.  
   "You were told that the Citizens of this great city were granted immortality. I am here to tell you that everyone on this planet is born a Centurion." He waited for that to sink in, apparently expecting the gasps of shock.  
   "What no one will tell you is the secret of immortality. I am here to tell you the secret, and the price." A small smile twisted his lips when several youngsters leaned forward.  
   "The cost, my dear children, is you."


	7. The Price of Immortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally learn the horrible cost of immortality. What if you only had a hundred years to live?

Gasps of fear and outrage shuddered down the line. Cain was particularly upset, she could tell.  
   "It was discovered, centuries ago, that our species was given one century to live, precisely. However, if someone died in their town, that age went up by however many years that person had left, split among the living. For those who failed math, let me put it in terms you might understand." He didn't do more than glance at Mary, but she flushed with embarrassment.  
   "If a woman died in childbirth at the age of twenty, she had eighty years left. If there were ten people alive, they each received eight more years of life." He paused, looking up and down the line with what she could only label wicked glee.  
   "Now imagine an entire city of people, promised eternity. Thousands of people, all needing thousands of other people to die, that they might live."  
   Fear rippled through them, palpable in the short silence.  
   "If a Centurion fails to live up to the potential of eternal life," here, he cast a hard look at Cain, "they would be given a second chance. Here, specifically. It's a shame about the ones who didn't pass, but their years will not go to waste."  
   It seemed they would never stop shuddering in horror!  
   "As for the rest of you, you will be creating hundreds of years for the citizens of this fine, timeless city."  
   Meara reluctantly asked "How?" She was wary, unsettled. Her grandfather's warnings, and her own fears, flavored that one word.  
   "The most efficient way to generate years is to harvest the very young. The longer one of your progeny lives, the fewer years we are producing here."  
   " _Progeny?!_ I'm not ready to have kids!" Brisa yelped. She still hadn't found Ben, last Meara heard. If she kept this up, she might never reach him!  
   The cold man's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Oh, but you _will_ procreate. We will make sure of it. The more of you we can inseminate with the highest _safe_ quantity of embryos, the higher our output is."  
   "You make it sound like you're some... utility company, but all you are is _murderers!_ "  
   Brisa howled like a banshee and tried to spit in his face, but an orderly slapped her in soft restraints and took her away. Her curses could be heard until, abruptly, they were cut short. Meara flinched. She wasn't the only one.  
   "She will not be cooperating willingly, it seems. No matter, we will get what the Undying City requires from her, one way or another. Perhaps we will not impose safety limits on her production." His icy stare sliced down the line.  
   "As long as you cooperate, you will live in comfort and peace. There are exercise areas on the grounds, bathing rooms complete with whatever you require, and nutritious meals. If you're lucky, you may be chosen to bring a new Citizen into the world. There are no orphanages in any Century City, for reasons that should be obvious by now; so, if an infertile couple wishes to have offspring, they come to us."  
   Meara shuddered at the implication.  
   "As I said before, if the progeny is found to be flawed," another glance arrowed toward Cain, "they are sent here. We provide them with another infant, and attempt to figure out what went wrong. When we discover the cause of the defect, we communicate this to the parents, and they try again."  
   Cain objected. "My parents loved me! This is a mistake! I don't belong here!"  
   Cold Man sighed. "Kid, they knew exactly what they were doing when they sent you here without the proper documents. After observing your behavior, I believe they were correct to do so. Why would they put up with your antics for eternity, when they can simply try again? You were one week from adulthood when they sent you here, weren't you?"  
   Cain retreated into stony silence.  
   Lucy timidly asked what will happen to people who don't cooperate, like Brisa. She was no doubt remembering her own lapse in control.  
   Cold Man gave a heartless shrug. "If they were found to be genetically desirable, they are forcibly bred, living out their days in restraints and/or locked rooms. If they are not, they are terminated before another precious hour can be wasted."  
   Shudders and covert glances shot down the line. They really were nothing more than a utility to these people!


	8. Acclimating, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New place, different rules, but the same stifling routine.

"Unless you are very good, or very bad, we will never meet again." Cold Man turned on his heel, and everything went black.  
   Meara woke in a well-lit room. It took her a moment to realize that it was not her room in the quarantine building. Her little plant sat in the window, quite as if she, and it, belonged here. Neither it, nor Meara herself, seemed to be harmed in any way.  
   Suddenly, she remembered what they'd said about their purpose here. She shot upright, lifted the scrubs she'd been dressed in, and stared hard at her belly. A trio of small incisions near her navel made her nauseous. She flopped back on the mattress, absently noting that it seemed to be slightly softer than the one in quarantine.  
    _What have they done to me? Where am I?  
_    She was certain she knew the answer to the first question, but the second was a mystery. Determined to find out what she could, she sat up again; gingerly, this time. Her fear had abated enough that she now felt a horrible soreness beneath the incisions.  
   She creaked to her feet and shuffled to the window. The view was similar to her first room, except there was no Wall in sight. She was further into the city proper.  
    _Well, I wanted to see the sights, didn't I?_ she thought ruefully. She was sad to see that it was more of the same, but for a small patch of green they probably thought of as a park. Everywhere else, gleaming cloudhuggers choked the view of the sky. _We should come up with a new name for those ugly beasts. Skyboxes? Claustrophobes? They certainly don't hug the sky!_  
   Her bitter musings were interrupted by a click and hiss. She spun to see a small man with a tray of instruments in one hand, and another tray with food.  
   "Ah, you're up. It is good that you take well to the anesthetic. Wise choice to use farm stock. Here, you eat. I check your progress."  
   Meara stared at the little man, not quite sure what to make of him. Part of her analyzed his seemingly weak stature, his ability to keep her here under duress. She quickly dismissed the notion, however. There were likely one or two bruisers outside the door, should he call for help. His limited grasp of their language marked him as an offlander from across the sea.  
   She sat on her bed, keeping a wary eye on the wizened man. He nodded approvingly at her acquiescence and set the food tray before her. He poked and prodded with various implements, somehow expecting her to eat while he did so.  
   "Good, good. Strong girl. We may be able to go to the maximum with you."  
   He seemed unaware of the rage boiling under her skin, patted her on the shoulder in a grandfatherly manner. He gathered up his paraphernalia and sailed out the door with surprising grace. At least, it would have been surprising, had she not remembered that his place of employment was an eternal life generator.  
   The food sat like a lump in her gut, but she forced down the rest of the tray. She would need her strength to survive whatever was to come.  
   She went to the door, tested the knob. She expected it to be locked, but it wasn't. She also expected to be isolated, but she wasn't. Several people were shuffling around a central room with couches and tables.  
   She spied a familiar face and wobbled toward it. Her sturdy frame dropped on the couch next to his. His broad, weathered face broke into a ghost of a smile.  
   "Well hey, I thought they'd split us up for good. Our grans woulda whooped my butt for sure if I'da lost ya to this place."  
   Meara chuckled tiredly. Both her grandmother and Dan's had passed beyond, a few years apart, but the old biddies were such good friends that she and Dan called each other cousins. They competed amicably at the county fairs every year, and mock-fought over the rulings when it was close. Dan was just about her best friend, now that she thought about it. She had so many siblings that she hadn't really thought about friendships until she got to the city.  
   She leaned against him and just sat like that for a while. At length, he asked if she felt as banged up as he did.  
   "Just about, I'd wager. Did they... you know...?"  
   He grunted an affirmative. Words were never plentiful between them, and it wasn't because they lived in different towns. They were country folk: plain-speaking kin who understood much without being told. They weren't much for flowery language, like Cain.  
   As if the thought had summoned him, the sullen youth dropped on the couch perpendicular to theirs. He immediately shifted onto one buttock, but said nothing. She didn't want to know what they'd done to him, but Dan leaned into her and rumbled one word in her ear: "probe."  
   Meara clasped his arm in mute sympathy. His mountainous bulk creaked upright again, and in short order, he was snoring. She leaned on him for a while, watching Cain. He ignored her, at first. He just slouched there, staring at nothing.  
   Without looking at her, he said without preamble "You're probably carrying their... _product_ by now." The way he said "product" left little doubt what he was referring to, and the word was filled with loathing.  
   Meara shot to her feet, fighting dizziness. Her hand whistled through the air with rage. He didn't even try to defend himself. He took the slap, which resounded through the common area, and let her storm back to her room without comment.  
   She wept bitter tears, for what felt like an eternity. It was probably only a few minutes before someone came and sedated her. She, too, took her punishment without a fight. In truth, the oblivion of sedation was preferable to being in his presence, or in this place.


	9. Cain is Able

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain propositions Meara.

When she woke next, it was nighttime. Someone was sitting in the chair next to her bed.  
   "You're an asshole, you know that?"  
   Cain didn't say anything. He sat there, staring at his hands. She was relieved, really. She never knew what he would say. She wished he'd just leave her alone, but in time, he began speaking.  
   "We knew something was... off. There are these trucks that drive through the city, like dump trucks, or mail vans. They'll stop every few miles, go in the back, and stay there for a few minutes. The truck is set up so they don't have to get out to do... whatever they do. Then they move on, and nobody ever knew what they were doing."  
   He blew out a breath that was half chuckle, half growl. "I guess nobody wanted to know, but now we do."  
   She wanted him to stop talking. The thought that slaughter trucks drove through the city in broad daylight sickened her.  
   "You know the worst part?"  
   Her mind screamed for him to stop, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate.  
   "On the sides of these trucks are pictures of happy people. Some even have..." He choked on the word, but finally managed to spit it out. "The bastards painted babies on some of them."  
   He must've known what her reaction would be. The small waste bin was under her head in time for her to vomit the meal she'd worked so hard to keep down. He didn't touch her. He couldn't. She now embodied the dark secret of immortality, and part of him hated her for it.  
   When she was empty, and gasping for air, he sat back.  
   "I thought you should know. They won't kill them here. They've got routes to run, just like the garbage and the mail. Gives the most people the most time. Just as regular, too. Once a month, the trucks go through the city, stopping and starting."  
   She heaved a few more times, but she had nothing left in her system. "Stop!" she gasped. "Just stop," she whimpered.  
   "You need to know how bad it is, if you ever want to get out of here."  
   She looked up at him blearily through damp, tangled hair. "There's no way out of here. You should know that better than anyone."  
   He grimaced, which might have been a grin. "We don't know that. This facility is smaller than the other one. To save on gas, they've got these little breeding stations all over the City. They're well-equipped to handle the breeding part, but maybe they don't have as many bruisers."  
   He got as close as he could, and whispered "They think we're tame now. They won't be expecting us to try to break out."  
   Even before he finished speaking, she was shaking her head. "They've been doing this for centuries. We'd hear about it if anyone escaped."  
   He snorted. "They wouldn't advertise a failure; only the successes."  
   She eyed him warily. "Why are you telling me these things?"  
   He was silent so long she thought he wouldn't answer. "I don't want to do this alone. Call me spoiled, but I want someone to come with me. I don't know who I can trust, but maybe that thing in your gut will make you want to keep it alive."  
   She aimed a punch at his jaw, but she was weak from losing her lunch. She'd missed dinner entirely; consequently, she missed his face. He easily caught her hand and pinned her to the mattress. His face was inches from hers, both panting angrily.  
   "I want out, you want to keep it alive, yeah? Give me a couple of months to test the defenses, see where and when. You just sit back and get nice and attached to that spawn in you, and we'll get out safe, okay?"  
   She scowled up at him. "I never wanted kids. I'm not the nurturing type. Go ask Sarah to help you, if they put her here."  
   She was lying, but he didn't know that. She'd wanted children from the age of twelve, but she didn't want the thing they'd put inside of her any more than he did. She wanted babies the old-fashioned way. Damn his eyes, but the way he was pressed up against her, she was starting to wonder what the old-fashioned way would be like.  
   "Get off of me," she panted. She must not have sounded too convincing, because he lay on top of her a while longer. He was looking at her strangely, and the hand that didn't pin hers to the mattress was perilously close to her breast. If he'd just move it a little to the right...  
   For a moment, she thought he might. Then he remembered what was inside of her, and he shoved away from her.  
   "Think about it. You have at least two months."  
   He spun and whipped around the door with surprisingly little noise. She lay there, panting, wanting something she didn't understand, from a boy she didn't even like.


	10. Edge of Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meara propositions Cain.

She tossed and turned throughout the night. It didn't surprise her, because she'd been unconscious most of the day. Cain's insane idea plagued her, as well. It was impossible. The Cold Man said they'd been "generating years" for centuries. That gave them plenty of time to iron out any kinks in their security.  
   His assumption that she'd become attached to the thing inside of her was equally crazy. She knew the poor thing was destined for an early grave, so why would she get attached? She was smarter than that.  
   Near sunrise, a new thought occurred to her. They hadn't taken her virginity, yet they expected her to give birth! She'd heard tales of her friends' first times, how it hurt when they tore. The idea of a baby's head, which was much larger than... boy parts... tearing her from the inside...  
   She paced the length of her room until she heard people moving around outside. Maybe it was the stress, or maybe she was malnourished, but she decided that she had to find a boy to take her virginity, _before_ this thing came out of her. The old man's voice haunted her, saying that they could "go to the max" with her. Did that mean there was more than one inside her? Her uneducated mind conjured a veritable train of babies, chugging out of her vagina in one long stream of agony.  
   She searched out Cain after breakfast. He was careful not to sit with her, probably to avoid suspicion when he started "testing the defenses".  
   "If I'm going to help you," she hissed, "you need to do me a favor."  
   He didn't like the look of her eyes. "That depends on the favor," he said.  
   She looked around to make sure no one was nearby. Dan was watching them, eyebrows raised in silent query. She shook her head subtly. She didn't need help.  
   "I'm a virgin," she started.  
   Cain cut her off. "No."  
   She leaned closer. He backed a step away. "You don't understand. It _hurts_ when they come out. It hurts to lose your virginity. Now imagine both at the same time. I'll be useless to you."  
   "Find someone else. I can't... Not 'til that thing is out of you. Please, don't... Just find someone else, okay? I'll get us out of here, but I don't want anything to do with what they put in you."  
   She rolled her eyes. "If we're escaping _before_ they take it out, you'll _have_ to deal with it--or them!" Her voice was strident, even in its low pitch. "Either you wait 'til it's out, or you take what I'm offering. Isn't it supposed to feel good for the boy?"  
   Cain backed away, hands raised. "I can't, I'm sorry."  
   Despite her assurances, Dan got up and lumbered toward them. "Ask him, I don't care. Just don't make me a part of... that..." He backed away, went the one place she couldn't follow: the bathroom.  
   Dan drifted to a stop next to her. For a big guy, he could be rather graceful when he wanted to be. "You don't look okay."  
   She turned and buried her head in his chest. His brawny arms closed awkwardly around her. She clutched the front of his overalls, crying silently into the denim. She still wore the scrubs she'd arrived in, but he smelled as though he'd showered recently. In fact, he smelled like home.  
 _Ask him, I don't care...  
_    Cain's words drifted back to her. They made sense, despite the callous way he'd spoken them. Dan was a friend, if not her best friend. He was safe, predictable, in a world full of uncertainties. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. What she didn't know was whether he would help her, and she didn't know how to ask him.  
   He let her cry. He didn't know what to do with a crying woman, and he'd never seen her do it. She'd broken an arm in a three-legged race, and twisted the opposite ankle, and never shed a tear. Her sister, still tied to her leg, had bawled like a lamb, and she hadn't sustained a single injury. _That's probably because Meara took the brunt of it, though,_ he thought. He didn't know what could make a girl that strong break down.  
   Against his better judgement, he asked what was wrong.  
   She surprised him by chuckling, once. The gruff sound hurt his big ol' heart. "All that's happened to us, and you don't know why somebody would cry?"  
   Her big, green eyes turned up, shining with the tears he'd never seen. _Why, she's pretty,_ he thought with some surprise. _Wonder why I never saw it before._ His Adam's apple bobbed.  
   She still had his overalls in her fists. It didn't take much to relax her fingers, tuck them more intimately against his broad chest. They fanned out in timid, fluttery motions, and he shivered.  
   Cain watched from the wall near the bathroom as she worked her wiles on the big brute. For a virgin, she was a natural temptress. Perhaps it was her naivete that made her so attractive. He briefly considered taking the farm boy's place, but his hands dropped to her hips, and he was forcibly reminded of the thing inside her.  
   He couldn't watch. He went to find the promised exercise area.


	11. Innocence Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meara propositions Dan.

"Do you... Have you... Maybe you oughta clean up first..?"  
   Dan didn't know any more about it than she did, but he wasn't about to tell _her_ that. She really did look like she needed a shower, but he wanted to find someone who'd know what to do, and ask their advice while she was busy.  
   Meara looked away, so he wouldn't see her smile. His nerves showed, at least to her. They'd known each other fairly well before quarantine, and the months of confinement had only cemented their friendship.  
   "Yeah, maybe. I must look terrible." It was the oldest ploy in the book, not that she knew it.  
   He didn't know either, so he dutifully reassured her. "It was a rough day yesterday, that's all. You just need to freshen up a little."  
   She sniffled, nodded. One last soulful glance up at him, and she was striding toward what she assumed was the bathing area. She didn't want to be in there too long, or he might change his mind. She also didn't want to be dirty when she...  
   Her mind veered away from what she was about to do. She trusted her friend, but the pain made her nervous. His size also worried her. Would he squish her? She was sturdy, but he was even more so, despite months indoors. They'd both made use of the activity room, unlike Lucy, so they still retained some of their muscle mass.  
   She thought of Lucy as she showered. Was she here somewhere? Had she been transported to another facility? What about Betsy? What did they do with women who arrived pregnant? If they escaped, could they really leave the others trapped in this vicious cycle until they died? She was certain that they would die, if they stayed. Women couldn't have babies past a certain age, immortal or not. It had been made quite clear that they would only live as long as they were useful. Menopause would be a death knell for these "year generators". Men, on the other hand, would remain as long as they behaved. They would produce semen until the day they died; and as long as they were in the city, they would not die.  
   She was in the shower longer than she intended, so lost in thought was she. When she got out of the bathing area, Dan was nowhere to be found. Her heart beat an erratic tattoo against her ribs. Had he reconsidered? Was he avoiding her?  
   She'd worked herself into a dither by the time she slunk to her room to hide, head down. She imagined everyone had seen her trying to seduce her friend, how they must be whispering behind her back. She couldn't face their ridicule, so she closed the door on the lot of them. Her head rested against the steel-core wood.  
   Big, warm hands closed on her slumped shoulders, and she jumped.  
   "I thought you changed your mind," Dan said behind her.  
   She slumped against his chest with relief. Just as quickly, she spun and jabbed a finger in his furry ribs. "You scared the life out of... me..."  
   Her words trailed off. It dawned on her that he wasn't wearing a shirt. She swallowed hard, refused to look down to see if he was wearing pants.  
   "I was thinking, that's all," she said belatedly.  
   His big paws rested on her shoulders again, gently massaging. "This place gets to ya," he said. It was a maddening simplification, but that was Dan.  
   "Yeah," she said lamely. Now that she'd gotten him in her room, she didn't know what to do with him. His hands felt nice on her shoulders, but she thought they might feel better in other places. She didn't have the words to tell him that, though.  
   Nothing else came to mind for conversation. Her fingers idly explored the surprisingly soft nest of curls beneath them, unable to meet his eyes. His hands flexed, and his skin sort of twitched. A strangled sound got her to glance up, and his eyes were closed. Her brows rose a notch.  
   Her fingers spread out, fanning across the wide expanse of fur. His hands dropped to her waist, kneading her ample hips almost painfully. When she grazed his flat nipples, his arms jerked toward his body, bringing her hips with them. Despite the small paunch that had developed while he was here, she felt his arousal digging into her belly. It almost reached the underside of her ribcage, he was so tall.  
   Some imp possessed her to put her mouth on one of his nipples. It was a chaste, closed-lipped thing, but for the uninitiated, it was a potent gesture. He slid her shirt up and over her head, hands shaking. He fumbled with the clasp of her support garment. She smiled against his chest, nuzzled the soft strands with her open mouth.  
   A rumble stirred the hair under her lips. She bit him lightly. He said a word she'd never heard him use, and pulled her undergarment over her head, disregarding the tricky clasp entirely. Her pants and underpants swiftly followed. He backed the two steps toward the bed, pulling her along by her hips.  
   He dropped to the bed, which put his face closer to her breasts. His breath heaved in great gusts, blowing moist air across her skin. She threaded her fingers through his hair, bade him do to her what she'd done to him. He obliged, awkward as every first time, but it felt good to her. One of her knees lifted of its own accord, resting on the bed next to his massive thigh.  
   He cupped her buttocks, tugged them closer to the part of him that could give her relief from the awful pressure that built in her nethers. Their inexperienced bodies strained toward each other, but with her foot on the floor, they couldn't get close enough.  
   Her normally patient, calm friend abruptly dropped back onto the bed, bringing her with him, and rolled her beneath him. There was some shifting and squirming until he was as far up on the small bed as he could go, with her head on the pillow. He lifted her legs around his hips, put his slightly damp mouth over hers, and thrust into her in one clean go.  
   She arched against him, the sharp cry muffled by his lips. He waited, patient as ever, for her to relax before starting again. This had been the biggest tip he'd been given. If he didn't wait, the whole thing would be an ordeal for her.  
   "If you give her time to adjust, she'll hate you for it less, afterward."  
   Dan hoped she wouldn't hate him at all. The feel of her was so good, he didn't want to stop. When she writhed under him, he went a little mad. His hips got a mind of their own; spasming in rapid, shallow thrusts like an excited rabbit. She panted and moaned, and when he spilled his seed too soon, whimpered in frustration.  
   "I'm sorry," he huffed, trying to catch his breath. It didn't seem to have been as mind-blowing for her as it had been for him. "If you give me... a minute, maybe..."  
   Meara smoothed his hair from his brow and smiled. It was brief, but it had accomplished the goal. For that, she would forever be grateful to her friend.  
   "Take your time," was all she said.


	12. Frustration and Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take two..?

They lay like that for a while, catching their breath. His weight was comfortable, braced on his elbows as he was. Sweat dripped into her hair, but she didn't mind. She'd been spared the double agony of childbirth and loss of virginity. She could endure a little sweat. Maybe when he caught his wind, it would be a more enjoyable experience.  
   Neither of them could meet the other's eyes. She stared at his beard, and he memorized every detail of her hair, splayed across the pillow. His flaccid member recovered faster than they anticipated. He was young, and virile, and his body was ready to explore this new sensation.  
   He shifted experimentally, to see if she felt better. She nodded, still not looking him in the eye. He tried to go more slowly this time, but it was just too exciting. Again, she growled in frustration. She punched him in the shoulder. He barely felt it.  
   "Next time, let _me_ be on top," she ordered.  
   "Yes ma'am," he huffed, still reeling from the heights she had yet to achieve.  
   He fell onto his side, barrel chest rising and falling with great draughts of air. She was barely winded. She lay there, listening to his breathing until it slowed.  
    _Slow! Maybe that's the key,_ she thought. She traced his arm with her fingertips, determined to rouse him more gradually. Bit by bit, she explored his torso. She didn't touch him with her mouth, since it seemed to drive him wild. She teased him without mercy, only making brief forays near his waist.  
   "Please," he begged.  
   She glanced down, and was fascinated by what she saw. She'd never seen more than the occasional bare chest, so this part of the male anatomy was foreign to her. She wanted to touch it, to see what it felt like, but she was afraid it would go off too soon. She wanted to experience whatever it was that robbed him of sense, and she needed to keep him wanting as long as she could, to get it.  
   She clambered up onto his big body, poised just above where she wanted to be. She lowered herself with painstaking care, mindful of her newly torn flesh and his hypersensitive parts. He grabbed her hips and pushed down, hard. She winced.  
   "Have a care, ye great brute!" she scolded.  
   He apologized, but she didn't trust his control. She pried his meaty hands from her waist and pinned them beside his head. She had to stretch, as tall as he was, but she managed. Her stocky body was pressed full-length against his when she rose up again. Her breasts rubbed his furry chest, which felt good. She shivered, which sent an echo through him. Her shoulders rotated a bit as she slid back down, maximizing contact with her youthful bosom. A strangled moan shook the frame beneath her, urging her onward.  
   Meara found she liked it better slow. His paws clenched hers with near-painful intensity, but he didn't try to overpower her to get what he wanted. She knew he could, if he'd wanted to. That was exactly why she'd chosen her friend for this. Any other man would have taken his pleasure and left her wanting.  
   She explored this new power over another human being, writhing sinuously against him in whatever ways felt best. If he seemed close to bursting, she waited until he calmed down before resuming the slow torture.  
   "Ah 'Mere, yer drivin' me crazy," he groaned.  
   "Now you know how I felt," she said without sympathy.  
   What felt like hours passed, but she could not withhold her own pleasure forever. It was her patience that snapped first. He had no warning when she stopped teasing and began driving her body against his. He jerked against her in surprise, probably climaxed on the spot, but she was past caring. She slammed into him mindlessly, until the world exploded behind her eyes.  
   She strained toward him, hips jammed as tight to his as she could manage, shoulders hunched, back arched. Her forehead nearly touched his sweaty belly, so far was she bowed. Her nethers convulsed in waves around his, eking out another spasm from his tired body.  
   She slumped forward in slow motion, sinking back into herself from wherever she'd gone for that interminable moment. Her fingers unlocked, one by one. She lay on her best friend's chest, hearing his heart thundering beneath her ear. Her own heart beat an answering staccato.  
   All either of them could say was "Wow..."  
   They fell asleep that way, quite without intending to. Still loosely joined below, they drifted into the exhausted slumber of the well-sexed. The bed was too small for them to sleep side by side, but he was so much larger than her, he made an adequate mattress. His feet and ankles hung off the end, but he was too far gone to care.  
   The sound of the door opening woke her, but not him. Her head shot up, eyeing the old man warily. She expected him to punish them, but he just smiled.  
   "I won't be long, my dear. I just need to take your vitals."  
   She started to sit up, but he made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "No need to disturb your mate. I can do my tests as you are."  
    _You mean you don't want to see more of us than you have to,_ she thought harshly. She tried not to think about the word he'd used: mate.  
   He set the two trays on the small table. Her eyes fell on the chair Cain had occupied so recently, and a bitter taste filled her mouth. She tore her gaze away, focused on the medical tray. There was a syringe on it, in addition to the usual paraphernalia.  
   "Simple blood test. Relax your arm, please."  
   She wanted to look away, but she didn't trust this man. A subtle pressure on her back let her know that Dan was awake, silently supportive. She watched as he drew a small vial of blood. He was exceedingly good at his job; she barely felt the needle go in. Dan didn't know that, she could tell. His huge hands flexed, itching to stop the invasion of her body.  
   The old man put the blood pressure cuff on the other arm, stuck a thermometer under her tongue while he pumped the little air bulb. He nodded to himself, wrote the numbers on his little pad, and set everything back on the tray.  
   "I have provided lunch for you, since you missed it. Your mate has a tray in his room." The implication was clear: they would tolerate fornication for recreation, but when it was over, pairs must go their separate ways. Perhaps they thought if they didn't spend too much time together, they wouldn't get too attached to each other--or the child that must be taken away. What they didn't know was, Meara and Dan weren't mates, they were just friends. She saw no reason to prolong the awkward post-coital contact.  
   When he was gone, Dan called him another word she'd never heard him use.


	13. Hard Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is as it seems.

"Well, I think you've been given your marching orders. Sorry about that." Meara pushed herself up on his chest, but they were still attached below the waist. She felt him harden almost immediately.  
   "Maybe one more for the road?" he asked, eyes twinkling up at her.  
   She sighed dramatically. "I s'pose one more couldn't hurt." Her green eyes danced merrily. "Since we don't have much time, maybe I should let you take the lead."  
   "Ouch," he said without much heat.  
   He tried thrusting where he lay, but it was inelegant. She giggled at his efforts, but he took no offense. He mock-growled and rolled her under him. It took some doing, with the narrow bed, but they managed. He didn't even bother trying to hold back, given the time constraints. There was slightly better rhythm this time, but the greenhorn was still over the edge in short order.  
   When he could breathe again, she kissed his nose and pushed him away. "Get off me, ye great bloody beast, so we can eat."  
   He chuckled with his customary good humor, kissed her solidly on the mouth, and his weight was gone. She saw why he'd chosen to wait naked, as cumbersome as his overalls were. She knelt on the bed behind him to straighten his suspenders, and it hit her: If she'd never come to the city, she probably would have married Daniel Brown. She would have been straightening his suspenders every morning, making breakfast for both of them before they went out into the fields, raising little brown-haired tots...  
   She burst into tears, though she couldn't say why. She regretted her choice to come to the city, but she wasn't sure she'd have been any good at farming for the rest of her life. While she liked the gentle giant well enough, she wasn't sure she'd have been happy with him as a husband. There hadn't been anyone else in the county who matched her wit and strength, so he would have been the logical choice.  
   Had she run away from the peaceful, boring life they might have had? Did some part of her recognize the signs, and drive her away to the city? For that matter, why had _he_ come? If anyone was born and bred to be a country boy, it was Dan.  
   She hiccuped, looked into his concerned face above hers. "Why did you come here?" she asked, unaware how tragic and beautiful she looked.  
   He looked down at his feet without answering. She grabbed a fistful of his beard and forced him to meet her suspicious emerald gaze. He was so surprised that a hint of blue flickered through his earthy irises. _Why, I didn't even know what color his eyes were until now,_ she thought irrelevantly.  
   Finally, he answered, and his tone suggested he thought she would be angry. "Yer ma was worried you'd get in trouble on your own. She told my pa, an' he told me I'd best make sure you stayed safe." He shrugged, attempted to stand straight.  
   She realized she shouldn't have expected anything else. She released his facial hair and sat back, deep in thought. She nodded her thanks when he handed her the food, barely noticed what she ate. She hardly registered the opening and closing of the door, the first time.  
   When the door opened again, her eyes snapped up. She half expected Cain, but it was the old doctor again.  
   "Your mate says that you are upset. I would offer a sedative, if I could. Do you need a counselor?"  
   Her brain only latched on to parts of that. "You've been pretty free with the sedatives up until now. Why does it matter if you knock me out again?"  
   The silver head shook regretfully. "We cannot risk it now. You will be told why in the prenatal classes that are required of all Life Generators."  
   Her brow furrowed. "But I was sedated yesterday--after I was inseminated."  
   He looked confused, checked his notes. "No, no insemination. Only harvest. You were scheduled for insemination next week, when the hormones had worn off." He patted her shoulder in that grandfatherly way he had, and actually smiled at her. "You saved us the trouble and expense, but do not worry. We will save the embryos for next time."  
   She reeled back, horror stamped on her plain features. They hadn't planted anything in her, but _Dan did!_ She wasn't carrying the spawn of some unknown sperm donor, she was carrying the child of her best friend!  
   "I can see this is news to you. I will send a counselor to see--"  
   "No! I don't want to see some bloody counselor! You _tricked_ me! They _said!_ They said we were going to be inseminated, and then there were the scars, and all I wanted was to not be a virgin when it came out of me!"  
   Her shrill voice summoned the last person she wanted to see; the same person who apparently sent for the doctor.  
   "Go _away!_ I never want to see you again, Daniel Brown! Just go..!" She huddled in the corner, perched on her pillow, as far from the two men who ruined her life as she could get.  
   The doctor moved, fast as a cobra, and struck her temple in a very precise spot. She knew no more. She didn't see her stricken friend straighten her crumpled body. She didn't know that he covered her nudity with the thin blanket and tiptoed away. All she knew was the oblivion she was beginning to prefer over reality.


	14. Savage Cain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain takes what he wants, without asking.

When she woke, her third least favorite person in the entire place was again sitting in her chair. She groaned and turned toward the wall.  
   "I'm guessing you didn't enjoy yourself. I told him to go slow, or you'd hate him for it."  
   She flung her pillow at him and covered her ears. He was on her like a weasel on a rabbit. "You don't like that I gave him advice? Well, I didn't like listening to you two going at it all morning."  
   He had her pinned, same as before. Her eyes spat flames, but he was unfazed. "I wanted it to be you, but you said to go elsewhere. I did, and now..." Her head turned sharply away, tears stinging her red-rimmed eyes.  
   "This is exactly why I said no. You were bound to hate whoever took your innocence."  
   She slowly turned to look at him, aware of her nudity beneath the blanket. "It's not the loss I'm mad about, idiot. I'm mad because I wasn't pregnant until this afternoon."  
   Meara watched his face, and wasn't disappointed. Shock was stamped plainly on his rugged adolescent features.  
   "That's right, you were wrong. They had me _scheduled_ for next week, but I saved them the _time and expense_." She spat the clinical words at him, and he flinched. "Now, it's not some _thing_ I'm carrying, it's my best friend's baby. How am I supposed to live with _that?_ "  
   His forehead dropped to hers, dug into it painfully. She shoved back, her skull her only offensive weapon.  
   "I'm sorry," he said unexpectedly. "This wasn't a complication I was expecting."  
   She started to shriek the word "complication?!" back at him, but his hard mouth slammed down on hers. She bucked against him, but she wasn't the only one who'd made use of the activity area. His thin body was tough as whipcord. His grip on her wrists was inexorable, his mouth harsh and unforgiving. She tasted blood, until he forced his tongue between her lips and licked it away. Her own tongue slashed at his aggressively.  
   Cain transferred both of her hands to one of his and roughly groped her struggling body. He pushed the blanket down as he went, quickly discovering her nudity. His erection was swift and hard. He wasn't gentle, as Dan had been. Everything she feared happened, in less time than she would have thought possible. He didn't strip, because he didn't have to. He flicked the snap on his pants, yanked down the zipper. She writhed against him furiously, but he hadn't expended his energy in bed, as she had.  
   In fact, he hadn't been in a girl's bed in months. She'd already admitted to wanting him, and she was naked. She hadn't been tainted, not yet, and she had curves in the right places. He thumbed her exposed nub expertly, callously, bringing her to a quick and brutal climax before thrusting angrily into her vulnerable depths. His lips fused to hers, swallowing cries of rage or passion as he ravaged her without mercy. She bit his tongue, but he did not relinquish control.  
   Maybe that's what this was, some abstract part of his brain reasoned. He was exerting control in a situation where he had none, punishing an innocent girl the way he was being punished. He exploded inside of her, and it was cathartic.  
   When some semblance of sanity returned, he contemplated his exit strategy. She was bound to lash out, verbally or physically. His lip throbbed where she bit it. His buttocks ached from her heels digging into them.  
   "Are you done? I'd very much like a shower," she said coldly.  
   He answered with equal ice, to cover the ache where his conscience used to be. "Yeah, thanks. Maybe next time you get pissed, we can do this again."  
   He pushed off of her bed, fastened his drawers, and left. She threw on the nearest clothes, which happened to be the scrubs, grabbed clean clothing by feel alone, and flew to the bathing room to scour her hide. She used a rough sponge to remove every trace of the men who'd touched her, but she knew that no amount of scrubbing would eradicate the child growing inside of her.  
  _How can I ever face him again? Does he know? What have I done?_  
   She didn't know how to tell her best friend that she was carrying his child. She didn't know if Cain would brag about what he'd done to her. Worst of all, she didn't know whose approach she preferred. Cain was experienced but callous, while Dan was inexperienced and tender. She wouldn't feel comfortable falling asleep next to Cain, let alone sprawled on top of him. And yet... She hated to admit it, even to herself, but the rough treatment produced an unexpectedly potent orgasm.  
   She huddled on the floor of the shower, skin as raw as her emotions.  
   "You must be new," said a girl in the stall next to hers. She, too, was on the floor, but she couldn't curl in on herself anymore. She was heavily pregnant.  
   They didn't say anything else, but her small fingers crept toward Meara's under the partition. Her wide, work-roughened hand closed over the dainty digits of the waif next door, and they wept together.


	15. Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meara meets Molly, a veteran of the system.

When the tears had run their course, they shared bits of themselves. The girl next door was named Molly, and she'd been here for five years. She was the child of a teacher and his wife. She'd come to the city to be a teacher like her father.  
   "He told me not to come here, said there was no future for me. He grew up in the city, so I guess he knew what he was talking about. Maybe he just guessed the truth. I snuck away one night. It must tear him up, knowing what might have happened to me. I never got a reply to any of my letters, but maybe they don't send them until we leave quarantine."  
   "I never got any letters either, and I know my father would've sent at least one. Sad as my mom was, I think she would have, too. They probably burn them, so we think they don't want us anymore," Meara said bitterly.  
   A weary sigh whispered through the steamy room. "That makes more sense. Say, have you been assigned a mate yet?"  
   Meara flinched, and Molly felt it through their joined hands.  
   "I'm sorry. Is that why you're in here?"  
   She nodded, then remembered Molly wouldn't see. "I guess they 'assigned' my best friend, but this other guy seems to want... Hell, I don't know what he wants."  
   The girls flinched when the water turned icy. "Ugh, it must be 45 minutes already. I hope you were clean, 'cause the water won't get warm again until tomorrow. I dunno how they know who's in the shower and when, but we only get a set amount of hot water per day."  
   Meara filed that away for later as they scrambled to their feet to turn the water off and dry their chilled bodies. They shuffled out of the bathroom together, heads down and knuckles brushing. They didn't hold hands in public, but it was a subtle gesture of support.  
   Dan hovered conspicuously near the bathing room, uncertain of his welcome. "That your friend, or the other guy?" Molly whispered.  
   "Friend," she murmured, chafing her arms.  
   All it took was that gesture of discomfort for Dan to risk her wrath. He nabbed an afghan from a couch and approached warily with it extended at arm's length. He looked so silly she couldn't help but smirk. Emboldened by her smile, he draped it over her shoulders instead of simply handing it to her.  
   "Apparently, they turn the hot water off when you've had long enough," she said by way of greeting.  
   He made a sympathetic noise and chafed her arms gently through the fabric. She burrowed into the furnace that was Dan, Molly temporarily forgotten.  
   "Name's Dan. You are?"  
   She heard Molly give her name, felt his arm bounce in what must have been a handshake. She turned in his arms and opened the afghan in mute invitation. Molly eyed the giant, shook her head, and sought out a scrawny kid with shaggy blonde hair.  
   "I wonder why they bother assigning us mates, if they're just going to take the..." She couldn't say the word, knowing that theirs was currently nestled in her womb.  
   "I can answer that, actually."  
   She looked up into his deceptively sweet, innocent face. She'd forgotten his talent for gleaning information when people thought he wasn't listening. That was how they'd learned that Bo Jonson was cheating at the pie eating contest 2 years ago.  
   "Well? You gonna tell me, or what?"  
   He guided her to a loveseat against a wall and tucked her snugly against his bulk. Now that she knew what this place was, she noticed that people did seem to be paired off, for the most part. Even the new arrivals had been sorted and assigned, maybe without even knowing. They'd been observed for months; perhaps they gauged who was most compatible with whom, and separated them accordingly.  
   All except Cain, that is. Some girls gave him knowing looks, but he ignored the lot of them. He appeared to stare into space, but he was positioned so he could see the loveseat where they seemed to cuddle.  
   Dan's eyes followed hers. "Do you want me to beat him up for you?" he murmured into her ear. He was canny enough to realize that if they wanted to be able to talk, they had to look intimate. No one would question them if they seemed to be immersed in sweet talk. How they thought anyone in this situation would think of nothing but sex baffled her, but it seemed to be the case.  
   "He won't last long, the way he acts. I don't know why they let him through in the first place," she hissed in his ear. "Tell me what you found out."  
   He bent, but instead of speaking, he kissed the base of her neck. Her chin tucked down, and he whispered what he knew under the guise of sweet nothings. "They want us to play house, but never grow up. We play at being adults, have indiscriminate sex when it's permitted, and never suffer the consequences."  
   She bit his lip and held it long enough to make her displeasure known. "Consequences?" she said against his mouth.  
   "Disease," he rumbled against her open lips.  
   "Oh," she breathed. She thought he was referring to the children that were ripped from their mothers.  
   "Sometimes, we get to keep them. Next generation, born in captivity." His voice in her ear was more bitter than she'd ever heard it, and she didn't blame him. "That's why we're paired off. Plus there are fewer miscarriages if you have support."  
   She tugged his beard, apparently playful, growled in his ear "Wouldn't miscarriage help their cause?"  
   He shook his head, and she let go of his beard. He nuzzled the base of her ear with the information that they had to breathe for it to count. She shuddered, and it wasn't because his breath tickled her nape. Her eyes met Cain's across the room. He saw her stricken expression, and his own darkened. He jerked his head toward Dan, asking if he was the problem. She glanced at the nearest orderly, and he nodded imperceptibly. It wasn't the man, but the place that made her sick.  
   It was strange, but she thought that if Dan had been an issue, he would have beaten some sense into her friend. Though he'd taken advantage of her weaker position, stripped her of consent, he acted protective of her. Did he still want to escape with her? Would he treat her differently, now that she wasn't carrying unknown spawn? She doubted she would ever understand Cain.  
   She buried her face in the crinkly softness of Dan's beard and fought another wave of tears. She couldn't tell him. Cain had to promise not to tell. He must never know that she carried his child, or it would destroy him when they took it away.


	16. Expiration Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prenatal classes in a "life generation facility" are about what you'd expect.

Life, such as it was, moved on. She was put in a room with women in varying stages of pregnancy for an hour each afternoon. They were taught basic self care, but nothing about babies. There were slides that showed their organs slowly being squished to nearly nothing, but the thing that squished them wasn't recognizable as a baby. The class was designed to teach them how to carry to term, but did not engender affection for the end result. They were never referred to as babies. The most common term was "product". Another word thrown around was "parasite", because technically, that was what they were. The class covered the same material over the course of eight months, then looped back around, so no one missed anything.  
   That hour was the only structure her days had, aside from meals. She supposed it behooved them to give the couples the maximum amount of mating time possible. She wondered what they did when the women couldn't safely have sex, or were being prepped for insemination. Did they segregate them?  
   She heard a rumor from one of the women that the reason they let them keep one of their offspring was to keep them docile when the rest were removed. Molly refuted that, since she hadn't been allowed to keep any of hers.  
   "Well, they want the best of the best to carry on their dirty work, right? Who knows what they want from us at birth? Could be they didn't weigh enough, or they weren't tall enough, or a hundred other things that we wouldn't think were flaws."  
   This was from a "birther": someone who had been born here. In a way, looking at her gave them hope that they might get to be mothers. In another way, for those like Molly, she was a constant reminder of the ones that were slaughtered in the name of immortality.  
   Meara understood why Molly cried in the shower. They only gave her eighteen months between pregnancies, and she hadn't been allowed to raise any of them. She'd been there about five years, which meant that she was on her third pregnancy. She was also on her second mate, because the first had refused to put her through it a third time. He'd been sent to the sperm donor center in another part of the city, where he would be mechanically ejaculated, the same as any bull or stallion. "Center" was a glorified name for "prison". Anyone sent there was labeled uncooperative, and treated with little to no human dignity.  
   The last bit of information was from Cain. After his first attempt to test the defenses, they'd threatened him with that unfortunate fate. He was a lot more subtle about it after that.  
   The horrible efficiency of it all made her nauseous. They were induced at eight months, because really, that was all they needed to get "product" "up and running". Women carrying multiples didn't need to be induced, because they never carried to term.  
   "Why don't you just cut them out of us, if you're gonna take them early? Why do we have to go through labor? That just seems cruel," Mary asked. She didn't have any marketable skills, so this was the most comfortable life she was going to get in the city. She wasn't especially eager to be a mother, and the pain was an inconvenient hitch in her otherwise comfortable existence.  
   The tutor, who looked perpetually bored, answered with clinical detachment. He must have gotten the same question hundreds of times in his life. "You've forgotten the purpose of this place." He paused to give her time to remember. "Labor is a perilous thing. Even under ideal conditions, women do still die. Now, if we removed that element, we would be wasting a valuable resource."  
   Meara wanted to vomit at the emotionless tone in his voice. "We require the fittest specimens to produce, and if you cannot survive labor, we have miscalculated. We only intervene if the product will expire prematurely."  
   That was how they referred to baby murder around here: product expiration. She wanted to scream that they were human beings, not _yogurt!_ She wanted to, but she'd seen what happened to the women who broke. They were slapped in soft restraints, the same as Brisa, and led away. Few returned. They were granted limited leeway, due to their hormones, but it was not carte blanche to misbehave.  
   They seemed to be graded very steeply, here. You were rewarded for compliance. Disobedience was treated harshly, and swiftly. An uprising would be quelled before it fully formed.  
   She remained caught between Dan and Cain. Dan was her constant companion, except when she snapped at him to leave her alone. Dan held her close and soothed her frazzled nerves, while Cain scowled across the room. They took turns at her body, with and without her consent. With Dan, it was sweetly awkward, while Cain was a tornado in human form. Dan would warm her up first, and stay with her as long as the orderlies would allow afterward. Cain swept down in her weakest moments and took her without a by your leave.  
   If she could have locked her door, he wouldn't have used her as frequently as he did. He had a nasty habit of waking her in the middle of the night, which meant that she napped in the afternoons.  
   By contrast, it was Dan who sat on a couch or loveseat and held her while she napped. He held her hair when she was sick, rubbed her back when it ached.  
   "I don't know why they call it morning sickness," she growled one day. She spat in the bucket that had been provided, and sat back gingerly. "It ain't limited to morning."  
   Dan handed her a glass of water to rinse with. She spat that in the bucket, unwilling to swallow bile. She sipped the water, at his urging, while he dumped the bucket down the toilet. He came back with a properly cleaned bucket, having learned that not washing it triggered another upheaval. He put a cup of ginger tea on the table next to her, whenever she felt up to it. She leaned against him and closed her eyes. She didn't nap, but it was nice to rest against his warm body. He tapped her arm with the tea, and she took a dutiful sip. He set it down and gently chafed her arm.  
   Words weren't needed between them. They sat in companionable silence for some time. He never asked about the baby, only how she was feeling. On one hand, she respected him for not talking about the condemned creature sharing her body; but on the other hand, she wished he would acknowledge the tragedy that was brewing. Somehow, it felt more horrible because no one spoke of it.  
   Well, no one but Cain. He had agreed to her plea, and kept Dan in the dark. "When we escape, we need to keep it to as few people as possible. If he knew, he'd want to come with us."  
   She grimaced. "He'll still insist. He promised my mother he'd watch out for me."  
   Cain scowled. "He's too big. They'll spot him in an instant. City folk don't spread out like you country folk do."  
   She punched his shoulder. "That's muscle, thank you very much!"  
   "Yeah, well we city dwellers don't do anything to get that much muscle."  
   She jabbed a finger at his midsection. "Why don't we pad him out so he looks fat? I bet there's a lot of fat people here."  
   Cain, as usual when she mentioned Dan, got mad. He pinned her to the bed, predictably. "Why are you so all-fired set on taking him with us?" His face was inches from hers. She couldn't see his face, but his voice was vibrating with... anger? Jealousy?  
   "Because I know he's _safe!_ " she hissed. "I know I can fall asleep next to him--or on top of him--and I'll wake up the same as I went to sleep."  
   The reminder that she was prone to nodding off after sex, and that she'd done so with another man, made him furious. He kept his distance during the day, to throw off suspicion while he tried to find a way out. If he failed, she wouldn't be implicated. The night was practically his only time with her. He didn't overtly avoid her, because that would be even more suspicious, but he hated having to slink around in the dark while she openly snuggled up to that bear of a man.


	17. Crude Cain

Cain ground his hips against hers suggestively. "You don't want safe, and you know it." He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head sharply away. He nipped her neck, wishing he could bite hard enough to leave a mark.  
   "I want out of here. Wouldn't _that_ be safe?" _It's the only reason I put up with this,_ she thought.  
   "Nah, we'll be hunted on the outside." His teeth scraped down over her collarbone. "We can't go home. We'll have to rough it in the woods, far as we can get before you pop."  
   While she was digesting this distressing truth, he shoved her pants down her legs. He didn't bother taking them all the way off, which always left her feeling dirty. He did concede to pushing his unzipped pants just below his hips, but only because it left a telltale bruise on her pelvis that the doctor noticed.  
   He pinned her pants, between her legs, to the mattress, in an unnecessary show of force. She was inured to it by now. Her legs bowed mechanically. He didn't bother being gentle, but he never had. She lay stoically under him as he took out his anger and frustration on her prone body. She'd found that fighting only made him madder, and she woke with more bruises she couldn't explain. The worst part of the ordeal was that he always brought her to peak before entering her, and he made her look at him while he was doing it. She couldn't hide what his rough fingers did to her, nor could she keep him from seeing the hatred that blazed from her eyes. She hated him for making her feel the sharp edge of pleasure, without a care for her feelings before or after. He dared her to show that anger, stabbing into her with cruelly accurate thrusts, but she refused to cooperate. She rode the tsunami of sensation, never moving a finger to go higher than he threw her.  
   With Dan, she was free to experiment, wriggle, close her eyes, make sounds. If she so much as whimpered under Cain, his cruel mouth smothered it. In retribution, she was more vocal with Dan. She knew he could hear them, because they could hear other couples when they were in the common area. She took great pleasure in finding ways to startle Dan into moaning, just to nettle Cain. Well, maybe not only for that reason. He was wonderfully reciprocal.  
   Despite his assurance that it would only take him a few months to find an escape, her belly began to round out. Cain despised the sight of it, because it was another man's child.  
   One night, when she was dressing for bed, he caught her in the act of changing her pants. She didn't know how he got in without an orderly seeing, but she didn't have much time to ponder. Her pants were around her ankles, and she was bent over when he slipped into her room. Her underpants were summarily shucked down, she heard the telltale flip of his pajamas being tucked under his testicles, and his fingers were between her legs. She was _not_ in the mood to be fondled, but he wasn't in the mood for foreplay. He found her opening and guided himself to it without a single word of greeting.  
   "Really, this is the last straw!" she hissed, unwilling for Dan to walk in on the horrid scene.  
   "You're getting too big, girlie. Get used to this way 'til you pop."  
   He was taking his time tonight, which only made it worse. She tried to straighten, but he didn't stop. As long as she was facing away, he was going to get his. He wrapped her hair around his fist and pushed her head back down. He didn't vent on her like he usually did, so it wasn't over for a very long time. He savored the feel of her, without her witchy eyes accusing him with every slow stroke. He murmured approval of her body, caressing her buttocks and hips. His hand flexed on her scalp. He wanted her to see that he could please her better than Danny boy ever could. Maybe then, she would leave him behind, and he'd have her all to himself.  
   He'd taught her not to make a sound when he came to her, but now he wished he hadn't. He couldn't see the pleasure build in her face, know the triumph of bringing her to bay. He had to be satisfied with his own, at least until they were free. Then, he'd make her scream.  
   The tempo built, little by little. The only sounds were harsh breathing and flesh slapping flesh. Just before the world went fuzzy, he saw her back arch, felt her ram him once, twice. Then everything slid out of focus.  
   He fell forward, spent as he'd never been before, at least with her. He'd forgotten how good it could be when you took your time with a wench. Their sweaty skin stuck together, breath scraped in raw throats.  
   When he could stand again, he ruined the afterglow by slapping her rump like a horse and pulling her underpants up. She whirled to glare at him, but her feet got tangled in her pants. By the time she was out of them, he was gone.  
   She hurled the worst epithet she knew at the closed door. He barged in here, showed her a new way to have sex, and thanked her the same way she'd thank the _mule!_ Her body still tingled from the slow torture, which made her hate him even more. It wasn't bad enough that he used her to sate his own needs--he had to make her _like_ it!  
   She was beyond caring about fidelity in a place where she could be inseminated by a mix of different donors, but she resented the callous treatment he subjected her to. It drove her to seek out Dan's company more than she might otherwise have done, to remove the bad taste from her mouth. She taught him the new position, so it wasn't exclusively a weapon in Cain's arsenal. His kindness took the sting from Cain's cruelty. Dan was the antidote she took, to purge the pollution Cain inflicted on her soul.  
   She knew she wouldn't be able to endure his company without Dan at her side.


	18. Subterfuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet one of Cain's cohorts on the staff.

"You said we'd be out of here _months_ ago!" Cain hissed at the orderly.  
   "Yeah, well you were supposed to find a way to get him out of the way so we could escape," Cain growled.  
   The large black man rolled his head sideways against the wall they were leaning on. "I still think you need him as much as she says. Guys like us can haul heavy shit better'n you can. I don't care how long ya spend in the exercise room, he's been doing it all his life. 'Sides, you know I ain't the one pulling the strings. I don't jump 'til the boss says."  
   Cain ground his teeth audibly. He hated being reminded that someone else would decide when he could breathe fresh air again. It grated that he didn't even know who'd _given_ the green light. He thought it was probably his mother, but they refused to tell him.  
   "Yeah, well tell your boss I'm not keen on traveling with somebody that's about to pop, and she's getting mighty big for travel."  
   Someone walked down the hall, so he said in a normal voice "Look, all I'm saying is, 45 minutes is a bit harsh. You lift, right? Ya get sweaty in places 45 minutes don't cover."  
   When they'd passed out of earshot, the orderly casually dropped the bomb.  
   "We already know that. Either you wait 'til she pops, or try on your own. I've been ordered to look the other way, but Carl hasn't."  
   Carl was the orderly that usually shared the shift with him. It didn't seem possible, but Carl was bigger than his conspirator. He didn't ask why they were helping him escape. Maybe it was just some sadistic test of their defenses. He'd have to work twice as hard to plan for a double-cross. You couldn't trust anyone in this place.  
   That was why he'd opted to bring one of the girls with him. Meara seemed to be the sturdiest in their group, so he'd requested to be transported wherever they sent her. It didn't matter where in the City, since he knew they would be leaving anyway. He didn't know they'd send the galoot with them, though.  
   He thought about wooing another girl to bring in her place, but their hungry looks made him sick. They were all too thin to survive a harsh journey, having been there for untold years. No, he'd known he'd need someone freshly incarcerated. Preferably farm stock. While these hollow-eyed girls may have begun as farmers, they'd wasted away in this sunless harem.  
   "Which is it gonna be, kid?"  
   Cain scowled. There wasn't really an option, was there?  
   "If they can't get us outta here before she pops, I'm going to be _very_ cross."  
   The orderly, whose name he didn't bother learning, chuckled under his breath. He pushed away from the wall and went on his rounds. Cain muttered every swear word he knew.  
   He didn't want to tell Meara, because he didn't know for sure that they would be stuck here until her _product_ was ready. The man merely suggested it was possible. He shoved away from the wall, then gave it a vicious kick. He went into the communal room, but the lovebirds were sitting together, as usual. Part of him wanted to tell her, just to ruin her day, but he needed her in decent shape. Emotional trauma seemed to affect her more than physical toil.  
   She was still active in the exercise room, though she was monitored now. The orderly on duty had to tell her to stop, because she didn't seem to have a limit to what she could do, and they didn't want her ruining their precious product with something as potentially dangerous to their control over her as _exercise._  
   Rather than watch them, he availed himself of the room in question, to burn off his frustrations.


	19. Bearer of Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cain has to break the new to Meara. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Meara got bigger and heavier, and Cain got more and more surly. He would have run her ragged in the exercise room, but either the orderly on watch, or her personal _manservant_ would stop him, just short of catharsis. He took it out on her at night, until the sides of her belly showed, even being behind her. It wasn't that he was worried about the _product_. He just didn't like seeing the evidence of another man's hand on her.  
   Two weeks before they would crack her open, he got the unpalatable news that he'd have to wait 'til afterward.  
   "Aw c'mon, do you know how _far_ we'd get in two weeks? And that's _if_ she pops early without induction. Don't first _productions_ take longer than the rest?"  
   The orderly didn't bother looking at him. "Boss wants to make sure she can do what she's s'posed to. I don't think they'll do anything to help, 'cept get the train going."  
   Cain ground his teeth together. It was more than the big man usually said, but it still didn't _tell_ him much. He knew they wanted free range breeders, maybe to see if a bit of fresh air would make them... last longer. The whole thing made him sick. Even though they were letting them go, they still treated them like _product manufacturers.  
_    They'd approached him in quarantine, shortly after his stunt in class. He didn't recognize either of them, so he'd assumed they were here to work him over, or something. It didn't matter how lean the one guy was; he'd been beaten bloody on the field by guys smaller than him.  
   "So you want out, eh kid?"  
   He'd hurled several choice epithets at them, but they didn't retaliate. That's why he thought his mother might have sent them. His father wouldn't have hesitated to give the order to make him see sense, no matter the cost.  
   "You keep that up, and you'll be stuck in here with the other breeders forever. And being in the place you know they're going, forever means forever."  
   Of _course_ he'd known where they were being sent. He'd figured it out faster than he let on. The thought of being cooped up in a glorified whorehouse made him ill. He was an active boy--man, now--and being stuck in a building all day horrified him. The lure of all the sex he could want was nothing. He already _had_ that, in his previous life.  
   They saw his reaction, and the bigger guy smirked. The suave businessman, as he now knew the lean one to be, clucked his tongue at him.  
   "You're going to have to be a better actor than that, bucko, if you ever want to see the outside again."  
   His head shot back. They were dangling open ball fields in front of his twitching nose, and he bit as surely as a starving bass bit a baited hook.  
   "Good, you're listening. So here's the deal. We need somebody on the inside to smuggle out some choice breeders. That'd be you, in case it wasn't clear. You get your freedom, more or less, _and_ you get to be the hero. What do you say?"  
   Cain wasn't so smitten that he didn't hear what they didn't say. "What do you mean, 'more or less'?"  
   Slick guy grinned, slow and menacing. "You've gotta come back every couple of years, to get more breeders. We need a thriving, _starving_ community outside the walls. So hungry that the provisions you 'pilfer' from our shipments will be a godsend."  
   He still wasn't biting until he knew all the facts. "You mean I've gotta go through this hell, over and over again, just so you have better quality _herds_ to cull?"  
   Slick guy slapped his hands together enthusiastically. "See? I _toldja_ he'd catch on quick!"  
   Cain had already picked out Meara for his own, so that's when he made the provision that she be the first woman out.  
   The men exchanged long glances, but eventually the spokesman agreed. "I hope she's as sturdy as you say, 'cause we need good foundation stock. You'll get pick of the litter, every time you come back."  
   He guessed that was supposed to be some sort of enticement, and his first bit of acting was pretending that it would be a perk of the job. It left ashes in his mouth, but if it got him out of this hellhole, he was all for it.  
   Now, this _minion_ was telling him that they wanted proof that she could actually give them their _foundation stock,_ and he had to give her the bad news.  
    _And I told her to get nice and attached to it, too!_ he groaned.  
   "Say, d'you think you can be on watch in there when I sneak in to tell her the good news? I can't guarantee I can keep her quiet this time."  
   Big man rolled his head his way, then back to watching the others. "No guarantee, but I'll try."  
   "Great..."  
   As it turned out, he was on watch in the common area when Cain snuck in. He had the cheek to throw him a thumbs up, which he did _not_ return.  
   She wasn't asleep, but she was faking it. He could always tell when she was sleeping, but he never let on. It was convenient to allow her to think she could fool him.  
   "So I've got some news, and you're not gonna like it."  
   Her eyes popped open. She eyed him warily when he put his hand over her mouth, but he couldn't depend on the big guy keeping his watch.  
   "I can't get us out 'til after you pop. I'm sorry, but my contacts don't want to risk it," he said quickly, because she was crying now. He didn't know what to do when she cried, and Dan was asleep, so he removed his hand and crept out of her room like a criminal. He felt horrible, but he'd only make her more upset.  
   That's when he realized that maybe he did need the big oaf, after all.


	20. Product Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't go quite according to their plan...

Meara couldn't bear to be around Dan for the last two weeks, but she also didn't want to be anywhere Cain could corner her. Her friend didn't fully understand her sudden chill, though he knew the day they were going to induce was fast approaching. He gave her the space she asked for, without abandoning her to the clinical atmosphere around them. He made sure she ate and drank when she forgot, remaining at a polite distance.  
   Despite what she thought, he ached for the child within her. It tore him up something fierce, knowing it wouldn't breathe fresh, clean air--or _any_ air, for long. He didn't entertain the thought that she'd get to keep it. He was too practical to fantasize, so he consoled himself with the fact that it would be a quick, painless death. Cain had told her that the vans only stopped for a few minutes, which left no time for torture.  
   He couldn't wrap his head around the folk who drove those vans. How could they do nothing but murder babies, once every week? He didn't think it was his lack of sophistication that made it so incomprehensible. His big, soft heart still believed there was good in the world, maybe even this city. If people knew what happened, he really thought they would revolt, tear this place apart, and all the places like it. No one with a soul could condone what they did.  
   He'd been a farmer all his life. He knew how to slaughter an animal for food, how important it was to do so. He'd even slaughtered calves and lambs. What he'd _never_ done is murder healthy newborns. Sure, he'd put a calf out of its misery if it had some sort of birth defect, but that was a mercy. Even veal calves and lambs lived to see their first birthday.  
   The more he thought about it, the less he liked even that practice. If he could've returned to the family farm, he would've convinced them to let the animals live longer. Did they have any right to slaughter animals so young just because they _tasted_ better?  
   As her induction date got closer, he chafed at the bit. He wanted to shield her from what they would do, and the fact that he couldn't drove him to the exercise room more and more often.  
   "They'd best be ready to spring us immediately after, 'cause I don't know how much longer big guy's gonna last."  
   The orderly didn't acknowledge Cain's words, but his eyes followed the exhausted bear of a man to the showers.  
   "On the up side, maybe you're right about his usefulness. At this rate, I think he'd shove a tree out of our way if he had to."  
   A grunt was his only reply.

    Meara showed no sign of distress when she was taken away. Her spirit had been ground into the spotless tiles beneath her feet. It broke Dan's heart to see it. Cain refused to watch her shuffle away, head down.  
   She'd worn nothing but scrubs for the last two weeks of her sentence, as she thought of it, which she dropped in a careless pile to don the faded hospital gown. She didn't fight the restraints, nor the needles. The blood pressure cuff was as familiar to her as the little plant dying in her window. She didn't flinch at the cold gel on the sensors they placed everywhere. She knew what they were monitoring, knew the ones on her chest wouldn't be used after this. They'd covered it in the classes: chest leads to see how well her heart did during labor, contraction belts, and a fetal monitor that wouldn't make any sound that she could hear. The screens weren't even by the bed, they were in the control room down the hall. The idea was for her to focus on herself. They stressed self-care so often in class that some of the girls would mouth along with the teacher.  
   She listened to the voices droning around her without hearing them. She was dead inside, just like her baby was going to be. She didn't know how they kept them alive until the scheduled delivery route, or where. That would have meant thinking beyond delivery, which was what they weren't supposed to do.  
   The only spark of life in her was hatred. Cain had told her to get attached to the "product" growing inside of her, and despite her best efforts, she had. She'd spent the last two weeks trying to smother mother-love. At first, she'd floundered in self-pity and depression. Then she remembered why she'd dared love it in the first place, and her mind focused like a laser on the source of her agony. She drowned her love in hate, aimed at the callous bastard who'd all but ordered her to "get nice and attached to that spawn inside you."  
   As the first cramps crawled across her body, they amplified her spite. She welcomed the physical pain. She held her breath, knowing it would make it hurt more. The orderlies kept telling her to breathe, probably more a habit than concern. Her _numbers_ must've been good, because they gave up trying after a while.  
   She never made a sound, which unnerved the hardened veterans of the ward. She bared her teeth, but no growls passed her curled lips. She stared at the ceiling for hours as her body contorted from rib to pelvis. Her legs and arms lay stiff as a corpse, only a curling of the fingers and toes any indication that the medication was working.  
   When they had to check her dilation, she bent only as far as they required. Then her legs slid down the mattress, heels first. She suffered additional straps behind her knees, when it came time to push, but she didn't use anything for leverage. She lay there, flat on her back, knowing it was the worst way to deliver, and shoved the "product" as far away from her as she could. Her wide fists ground into the mattress beside her hips, refusing to accept any aid from the heartless bastards who did this to her.  
   They told her to stop after the first push, to clear the airway. She almost didn't. The only thing that stopped her was Brisa, locked up somewhere in restraints.  
   "Okay, now--" was all the "technician" got out before she thrust her newborn child into their uncaring hands. He looked at his assistant, who was equally disturbed by her callous disregard for what was happening.  
   They cut the cord, properly tied off, and set it on the cart that was waiting to take it to the inspection room, before it could let out its first cry. It was out of the room when they began the painful process of delivering the afterbirth. Still, she didn't make a sound. Not even a whimper.

   "That one is strange," the woman behind the monitor said to the businessman. "Are you sure that's the one you want? I'd almost say she wants to die."  
   The slick suit leaned against her desk and pointed out what was obvious, to him. "She did everything wrong, by the books, and look at her. Heart rate never reached danger levels, blood pressure steady. O2 never dropped below 85, even though she was holding her breath. Damned straight we want her. I bet she could deliver in a tornado, and probably clean up after, with the product in a sling."  
   She frowned. "Something about her... I don't know, I'm just a tech, but there's something that just doesn't sit right with me."  
   He clapped a hand on her shoulder briefly. "Good thing we're taking her off your hands then, isn't it? How's the product? Is it online, and stable?"  
   She tapped a screen, nodded. "Vitals strong, taking to the bottle already--"  
   "No bottle! Didn't you hear me?"  
   She shrugged, tapped a few spots on the screen, and he walked away. Her gut twisted, watching the screen in Room 4. She'd be chugging the pink stuff when she got home, she just knew it.


End file.
